


A Simple Misunderstanding

by iamacamera



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamacamera/pseuds/iamacamera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes tells the sordid story of Watson mistaking him for a virgin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Misunderstanding

Evidently, Watson has convinced himself I am a virgin. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Although I understand how he could misconstrue my apparent disinterest in softer passions as asexuality. And I suppose it didn't hurt his case I am much more clever in squirreling away my French love notes than I suspect he could ever imagine. However, I simply value intellect over gender and find more pleasure in the thrill of the hunt than any visual or tactile stimulus.

That aside, acting the part he cast me for certainly was amusing while it lasted. Especially given that I was already familiar with the extent of his deviance. He takes great license to downplay his shortcomings in this area in his writings. (For good reason: I'm sure he would be arrested if he did not.) He thinks I don't know he owns a copy of _Sporting Among the She Noodles_ and I am ignorant to his reasons for visiting Cleveland Street on a regular basis. When he handed his checkbook to me for safekeeping he told me it was because of his gambling habit. I know better.

Not that he did not hide his perversions quite well for a short period. Though, he kisses and tells which is decidedly abnormal behavior for the common, prudish bourgeois physician. This gave him away even before I noticed any indication of the depth of his feelings for me. But, the particular way he in which catalogs my every mannerism down to the meaning of the movement of my fingers as well as the fact that he is as delightfully obedient and mellow under my direction as a well trained dog eventually made it hard for me to believe he thought I hadn't noticed he'd fallen in love with me.

When he finally did tell me he wasn't a coward. He courted me like a gentleman and because I enjoyed the attention I didn't illuminate him to the facts: that I had known all along and that I wasn't nearly as innocent in these games as he thought me to be. I knew he must have been serious. There was nothing in his earnest eyes to tell me otherwise. For weeks we talked endlessly about the state of our friendship, about possible physical relations, about how it was a sin and against the law. After a time, I began to lose faith that we would ever actually get around to making our plans a reality.

When he finally did initiate, keeping a straight face as he told me he'd be gentle the first time was difficult to say the least. Let it be said for Watson that the man has a kind soul even if he is, at times, woefully gullible and lacking in reason. I hid my mirth at his soft touch by covering my mouth with his. Out of curiosity, I let him take the lead so I could watch to see what he would do. But, making useful observations became difficult when he pushed me into my velvet lined arm-chair and knelt between my knees.

It wasn't fellatio he performed so much as it was an act of worship. That is not to say his ministrations were at all unskilled. In fact, feeling his hums of satisfaction through his wanton, velvety mouth was incredibly gratifying. I didn't need to open my eyes to know that he was touching himself. He pushed me to the edge much more quickly than any of my previous partners.

Every shivering muscle tensed as he paused before tipping me over the edge. Then my world quietly narrowed to a single trembling point of ecstasy. I filled to the brim and overflowed. The searing pleasure left heavy, fluid limbs and tingling skin in its wake as it receded.

I covered myself. He must have thought I was being shy. I wasn't and I wasn't done with him either. This, in my opinion, is the part of my story that is the most amusing:

He moved to stand. I reached out languidly to cup his jaw in my hand. He paused. I leaned forward and whispered against his ear. He must have heard me smiling in the darkened room, “Did you really think you were deflowering me?”

I kept the distance between us close enough that I could feel his breath on my lips as I sat back to watch the realization of his folly dawn on him. He has wonderfully expressive eyes. They make teasing him far too amusing. He frowned and showed the beginnings of baring his teeth like a cornered dog.

Yet, there was glint in his gaze that said having the tables turned so suddenly roused feelings that were not entirely unpleasant. On some level he must find comfort or get some thrill out of always being one step behind me. Otherwise he would have to be a masochist to follow me continually. I could not bring myself to imagine that he had not anticipated the possibility that I would deceive him. He had to have at least speculated on it.

“You cannot possibly deny you enjoyed it.”

I didn't name 'it.' However, he must have known what I was referring to. Not that he might have gotten off on the idea of taking my non-existent virginity. But, that it had crossed his mind that he had an advantage over me in some arena. Granted, he does hold one key advantage over me in all areas which, in a way, serves to even the playing field. That is he has the ability to walk away and leave me alone. This isn't a card he would very readily use and certainly not in this situation. He's not one to easily back out from a game, even if he knows he will lose.

I kissed him and savored the bitter, salty taste of myself on his tongue. That Watson had so kindly finished me off afforded me the luxury of a mind unclouded by my baser desires. I could draw this out as long as I wanted. There was no urgency, at least not for me. Moments after he began greedily returning my kiss I pulled away.

“You're a stuck-up, conniving bastard,” he drawled accusingly in a voice so breathy and thick with pleasure and need he was barley intelligible.

“I said nothing to mislead you. It was a simple misunderstanding. If you had paid more attention...” he attempted to claim my mouth again. Yet, he did not go so far as to rise from the floor when I pulled back. I supposed this meant he must have liked it down by my feet. There is a natural sort of power given away in purposefully placing yourself physically below another man. It was the only confirmation I needed to know that he liked this sort of play, too. “You should show me how much love this.”

“I...”

Fear, excitement, humiliation, lust: they all provoke a similar response in the nervous system. I, for one, enjoy a good chase for this reason. Whether its chasing a criminal through the streets or a lover over physical and psychological boundaries does not particularly matter.

“Well?” I brushed his cheek with the back of my fingers. It was warmer than it had been before. He was blushing. He knew exactly what I was talking about. That did not mean I would not name it just to add fuel to the flame burning under my touch, “You were touching yourself earlier. Go on.”

This would have been easier for Watson if I were holding him. Physical contact has always been comforting to him. He reached out and squeezed my knee. But, I withheld until he obeyed.

“That's right.”

I ran one hand through his hair and the other down his flank. His lips parted easily for my tongue. He moaned desperately into my mouth. His breath started to come sort. I could feel the erratic rise and fall of his ribs under my palm. When I was absolutely sure he would have great trouble stringing a sentence together I tugged his head gently back by a handful of his hair.

“Tell me how it feels.”

Apparently, that was too much for him. He covered his face with his free hand and mumbled something through the cage of his fingers. I took his wrist and pulled it away.

“What was that?”

“It feels-- I'm going-- please...”

I released him. He curled forward to bury his head against my leg. I petted him and watched as he came undone. His limbs tensed. His breath hitched. He shook and cried incoherent praises into my lap.

For a long while afterward he leaned heavily into me. I draped myself over his frame and waited for him to speak. I think he was gathering the bits of himself he dropped somewhere along the way. Finally he said:

“You're cruel, Holmes.”

The only reply I could find was the simple truth, “And you love it.”


End file.
